


When He Knew

by NorroenDyrd



Series: My Precious Heathen [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: In Hushed Whispers, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fade Demons, Falling In Love, Realization, Realizing Feelings, Redcliffe, Sacrifice, Time Travel Fix-It, dark future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5439197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For all the complexity of his relationship with Cassandra, Lavellan knows exactly when he realized that he was in love with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When He Knew

**Author's Note:**

> This extract (in a somewhat different version) was part of a larger story on DeviantArt: http://fav.me/d9enl8v  
> I just thought it merited being posted separately.

Inquisitor Lavellan knows perfectly well that to call his relationship with the Seeker ‘complicated’ would be an understatement. Perhaps she is right, and one day the minstrels will sing of two heroes that stood side by side, brought together by fate to stop the darkness from engulfing the world, and destined to love each other since the day they met – but they both know that this romantic picture would be far from the truth. There most definitely was no love at first sight – gods, when he caught first sight of her, bound and locked away in a dungeon and still groggy from three days of unconsciousness, she would have bashed his skull in if Leliana had not interfered!

 

No, before their story turned into at least half-decent ballad material, it had to take many twists and turns, with their feelings evolving from seething, spitting hatred (‘Tattooed heathen!’; ‘Self-righteous shem!’) to reserved, cautious animosity, to slowly, falteringly growing trust, to reluctant friendship, to unexpected proximity, which then turned into desire – and desire turned into something more…

 

But no matter how gnarled and tangled-up their feelings towards each other might be, Lavellan is still certain of one thing. He can name the exact circumstances under which he first knew. Circumstances under which the words came to him.

 

It was all set in motion on the day that never was, on the moment when a gaunt, tortured face looked out at him from between the prison bars, as he and Dorian were searching for answers in the twisted, dark version of Redcliffe Castle.  
  
As time has been re-written, nobody remembers this face now, but for his (then future) Tevinter friend and himself. He does not know about Dorian (the human does claim that he did his utmost to wash away those events with large quantities of wine of dubious quality) - but he, Lavellan, will never forget it.

 

He will never forget the way that pale, slightly purplish-tinged flesh stretched over sharp, angular bones, with thick, dark-red veins pulsing underneath its cracking, parchment-like layer, especially around the eyes, where the skin is the thinnest. He will never forget the shards of hard, many-faceted crystal that came bursting through along the neck and temples - like trails of caked blood, only... glowing. And the most staggering, the most blood-curdling detail of all - the gaze. Empty, after enduring impossible pain for many months, devoid of almost any spark of life, of fiery, fierce determination - of what once made this gaunt, lyrium-infected prisoner who she was. What made her Cassandra.  
  
A pale, faint reflection of that spark did return when she realized that the horror-struck, wide-eyed elven face, which was hovering in front of her in the red murk, did not actually belong to an apparition, and that her blonde, tattooed, pointy-eared verbal sparring partner was back, with an intention to wake them all from this nightmare. Varric, who had already been freed from his cell, even chuckled (or tried to, as best could with red lyrium clogging up his chest) and said,   
  
'Perfect! The Seeker is back! Now we can all start bickering like in the good old days!'  
  
But all the same - deep down in their hearts, all of them knew perfectly well that this was nothing like 'the good old days', and that the pallid, dying woman walking by Lavellan's side was nothing like the Seeker that he left behind in the throne room of Redcliffe Castle, when the Magister hurled him and Dorian into a swirling green vortex.   
  
And this thought tore at the elf's heart - digging in deeper and deeper and deeper after each encounter with the Venatori in the crumbling dark corridors, after each chaotic skirmish, during which he could not help but notice how difficult it was for the Seeker and the dwarf to overcome the red poison that was eating through their bodies, and to keep striking at the approaching foes (and things did not get better by any means when they were joined by Leliana, withered and ghoul-like, with eyes dimmed over with a stubborn, almost bestial hatred of everything she was seeing).  
  
What ripped through his chest most violently of all, however, was a short conversation he had with Cassandra as they lingered side by side, at the top of a half-ruined staircase, while down below, the rest of their grim little team was sifting through the debris in search of a shattered key that would allow them to gain access to Alexius' evil lair.  
  
Both the human and the elf pretended to be watching the others, without actually seeing what was going on at the foot of the stairs.  
  
'You keep giving Varric, Leliana, and me these long stares,' Cassandra remarked at length, her voice warped by an unnatural echo.   
  
Lavellan shrugged and responded in his usual wry manner,  
  
'I am a savage godless elf, remember? It is quite natural for me to be rude'.  
  
Cassandra bit into her lip and clenched and unclenched her fist, as though stopping herself from hitting Lavellan - or maybe, from taking his hand?  
  
'There is no need to snap at me. Not now. I think I understand. If this impossible tale is to be believed, you left us behind less than an hour ago - and now, here we are... changed'.  
  
'Is this going somewhere?' Lavellan asked sharply, immediately regretting his brusque tone. It was as if the pain in his chest was taking control of him, and making him say things he was not intending to say... turning his voice into a snarl.  
  
'It is, actually,' Cassandra said, continuing to avoid looking Lavellan in the face. 'For you, this terrible year has flashed by in a blink - but for us, it dragged on in endless torment. We are different people now, all of us. If you succeed in restoring the past, you will return to a different Leliana, a different Varric, a... a different Cassandra. A Cassandra that does not yet know...'  
  
'Know what?' Lavellan demanded, sounding just as harsh as before and mentally slapping himself for it.  
  
The human by his side passed her hand over her face, struggling to find the right words.  
  
'I just thought you might want to know that, after all these months of being trapped here, thinking that you were dead, wondering if... when the red lyrium finally claims me... if the Maker would allow us to cross paths again... I - I came to understand that - '  
  
'Hah, I knew that Venatori guard dog would have the key hidden in his underwear!' Varric exclaimed suddenly, looking up from the corpse he was looting. 'You, sparkling Tevinter guy - you owe me a sovereign!'  
  
'Thank you for appreciating my stunning looks,' Dorian replied, catching the key shard, which the dwarf had tossed to him, 'But if my calculations are correct, you will not remember our little bet when time is reversed'.  
  
'Well then, make it a surprise gift!' Varric said lightheartedly, before being silenced by an impatient remark from Leliana,  
  
'Let us keep moving!'  
  
This little exchange downstairs stopped Cassandra from finishing what she was trying to say. But Lavellan understood.   
  
He read those unspoken words in her eyes when, in an attempt to make up for his previous curtness, he swerved around and placed his hand onto hers, not even flinching when his fingers brushed against the tiny red crystals that were growing out of her phalanx joints.  
  
He saw those words spelled out, clear as day, in the smile that she gave him over her shoulder, moments before she and Varric stepped forward to block the advance of a swelling, roaring, hissing wave, made out of gnarled, clawed limbs, and gaping maws filled with crooked teeth, sharp as razor blades, and tiny eyes that glowed with feral malice.  
  
And he heard those words echo within his own heart, when the wave swept through the throne room doors, mangling them and tearing them off their hinges, and crushed the two puny mortals that dared to stand against it.

 

Perhaps, he even screamed those words out loud, reaching forward in desperation, tears streaming down his face, while Dorian was pulling him back into the reopening vortex - but if he did, he did not quite realize it. For he could not hear the sound of his own voice, over the deafening noise of the battle, and the steady hum of Dorian's magic, and the rhythmic prayer with which Leliana accompanied each of her arrows.

 

But if he did voice the pounding chant inside his mind, if he did hurl it at the advancing darkness – those would be the last words this doomed world would hear before melting into oblivion.

 

_I love you, Cassandra Pentaghast! By the gods, I love you!_

**Author's Note:**

> I know the little glimpses of Dorian are portrayed like he does not care; but that does not mean I am over-simplifying his character. There is just not enough Dorian in this story (which focuses on Lavellan and Cassandra) to show how he truly feels, past all the superficial cynicism and vanity.


End file.
